A Sad Soul Can Kill You by Catherine Flowers Read Free Book Online Page B

smallest of the four houses on the cul-de-sac, it was large enough for the two of them.
    There was a short foyer upon entering the house which led into a small living room on the right and a hallway on the left. The hallway led to a medium-size bathroom and one bedroom on one side, followed by another larger bedroom on the other side.
    The small eat-in kitchen right off the living room had a door that led to a dark and seldom-used basement. Sandra didn’t like the basement and never went down there. “It has a dark vibe,” she’d said.
    Homer was the only one who went into the basement, and he did so whenever he had loads of stained clothing that needed to be washed. He’d throw the dirty clothing into an old washing machine that he had placed beneath one of the two basement windows. Yellowed sheets of newspaper covered the bottom half of one of the windows, and Homer had spent many days standing there watching as his neighbor, Tia, and her daughter, had come and gone.
    â€œWe’re doing all right,” Homer said, bending down to rearrange the magazines on the coffee table. “I have my accounting job, and that’s more than enough.”
    â€œI know we’re supposed to be middle income,” Sandra said, “but sometimes . . .”
    Homer stood up. “Sometimes what?”
    Sandra rubbed her ear nervously. “Nothing,” she said.
    â€œNo, what were you going to say?” he asked defensively.
    â€œI’m just saying,” Sandra chose her words slowly, “that if I got a job . . .”
    Homer waved his hand as if he were backhanding a pesky insect. “Don’t start,” he said.
    â€œI’m not,” Sandra said meekly. “I’m just saying.”
    â€œNot feeling like we’re middle income doesn’t have anything to do with you getting a job,” Homer said. “The reason it doesn’t feel like we’re middle income is because that classification is quickly becoming the low income just like they’ve been predicting in the news.”
    â€œYeah, well, this is Obama’s second term,” Sandra said with a sigh of defeat, “so I hope something changes.”
    She continued watching the news as the anchorman began reporting on a follow-up story about three young girls who had been missing.
    â€œThe three teenage girls who had been kidnapped eleven years ago,” the anchorman said, “were finally found when one of the girls was heard kicking and screaming at the back door of the house where they were being held captive for more than eleven years.”
    â€œThat’s a shame,” Sandra said shaking her head.
    Homer rubbed his head in frustration. “Yeah, but that was nine months ago.”
    She stared at him strangely. “It just doesn’t make sense,” she continued.
    â€œWhat don’t make sense is that they’re still talking about it,” he said as he got up and went into the kitchen.
    She looked his way again and frowned. “That’s kind of insensitive, isn’t it?”
    Ignoring her question, he hollered over his shoulder, “When are you going to the store? I’m hungry, and sitting on that couch listening to the news is taking up too much of your time.”
    â€œI’m getting ready to go right now,” she said. A smirk came to her face as she realized she still had on the blouse that he’d strongly insinuated she change. As she put on her coat, she felt like a child rebelling against a parent, but the realization that she was putting herself in the category of a child made her upset all over again.
    She finished buttoning her coat. “It’s making me depressed too,” she said in reference to the news about the kidnapped girls. She and Homer had only been married for two years, and Sandra was glad they didn’t have any children. “Kids just ain’t safe nowhere,” she mumbled to herself as she picked up her